Light Pollution
by Acey Dearest
Summary: The love that lasts the longest is the love that is never returned, and often undeserved. Genderswitch alternate reality, pre-series. One-sided Katou/Kira.


"Light Pollution"

by Acey

Author's Note: Genderswitch A/U, preseries, and for that I apologize profusely. One-sided Katou/Kira, some implied lime.

_The love that lasts the longest is the love that is never returned. _–William Somerset Maugham

The first time you saw her, she was sitting on the hood of a Toyota, one hand on the windshield, the other hand holding a lit cigarette. Hair cut like a boy, or a dyke, coat hanging loose and open, her crucifix and her school uniform beneath somehow seeming the furthest thing from modest on her tall frame. You knew then that she was trouble, the kind nobody ought to be caught dead around. You could tell from her expression as she glanced you up and down that she knew it, too, the smirk on her face, the way she jumped off the hood like an old shoujo manga heroine twisted almost beyond recognition.

"Smoke?"

It took you a minute to realize she was talking to you—not until she touched your arm and you turned around, suddenly face-to-face. She looked less like trouble up close, somehow—maybe because you could see how her eyeliner was smudged and uneven, the shadows under her eyes giving her an odd fragility.

"Sure."

You took the cigarette from her, put it into your suddenly dry mouth. She didn't smoke your brand—but her throwaway gesture was more attention than you'd gotten from anyone in six months, not that you'd let her know that.

"C'mere, sit down." Her fingers curled around your arm and you couldn't help but follow her the five steps back to the car, to sit on the hood beside her. "It's no good to smoke alone."

"Not like I've never done it before," you muttered under your breath. "What're you doing here, anyway? Who're you waiting on?"

"What do you think? Somebody to share a pack with." She pulled a half-empty pack out of her coat pocket and lit up. "Or maybe I was looking for a girl. Hell, who knows?"

"I'm a girl." You were suffering from the after-effects of some pretty potent hashish, at least, that was how you justified such a stupid response to yourself later.

"That's quite the pickup line."

You glared at her, but not before you could feel yourself turning bright red at the remark.

"You were the one saying you were looking for a girl. What are you, a lesbian?"

She just plastered a smirk across her face and crossed her legs, started to reach out her hand but pulled it back almost before you could blink.

"Nope. I'm Sakuya Kira."

"Charmed, that's for damn sure." You spat out the words with more venom than was really necessary—she'd touched a nerve without knowing it. "Yue Katou."

"'Kay."

You breathed in the smoke, fingers drumming the side of the car. You were trying not to look at her too much or too often, because that'd only make the silence even more awkward. She was the one that finally broke it.

"Well?"

"Well, what?"

"Aren't you gonna say thanks?"

"For wh—" and then stupidly you remember: the cigarette. "Yeah, sure. What, do you just sit on top of cars all day and offer people smokes?"

"Only when they don't have a light."

--

It never made sense to you, what she said, because you _had_ a lighter in the pocket of your uniform. Had a half-empty pack of cigarettes, too, even if it was mostly crushed from staying in your pocket through a day of class.

You walked down that same sidewalk again, just out of curiosity, you told yourself, but you didn't see any signs of her. And that was a mild disappointment, but mild enough that you didn't look further—just headed to one of the downtown clubs, half-hoping there'd be a dealer or _someone_ there offering free hits, because you'd run out two days before. You showed the bouncer your fake ID and he laughed before he let you in.

The club was all strobe lights and chains hanging everywhere, strippers with worn-out smiles, cooing at the patrons, teenagers spinning on barstools. You ignored all that, deciding if you couldn't find a seller in short notice, you'd settle for sitting around until some half-drunk punk bought drinks for you. Or that was the plan—hell if it had ever worked.

Maybe if you hit on _them_ first. You sat down at one of the barstools, swallowing your already injured pride at the thought of what you're about to try, and look around for potential candidates. The guys all looked about the same: the businessmen in their suits had identical expressions to the college students when they were drunk, and the strobe lights made even focusing on one of them difficult. You caught a glimpse of short dark hair and decided to try, wrapping your arm around the back of the guy's neck.

"Hey, babe," you said, like the chick in some cheesy teen movie. "You're looking pretty fine—"

The guy turned around.

"Thanks, Katou, that's great to know in a place like this." A wide smirk, and you wanted nothing more than to melt into the wall. It was her. It was Sakuya Kira.

"You—fuck, you—I—oh my God I didn't—"

"So I don't look good? Damn." God, this was just amusing her. "I guess that means you'll be taking your hands off me…?"

You sputtered and jerked your arm away from her neck with a vengeance.

"Damn it! If you don't want people thinking you're a dude, grow your hair out!"

"Are you kidding? My hair looks disgusting long. Besides, I'd miss getting hit on by everyone from gay guys to—"

"It'd save the rest of us some confusion." Your face was still burning.

"Aw, don't be so embarrassed, Katou. Tell you what, I'll buy you a drink."

"I don't want one."

"If you didn't want one, you wouldn't be here." She finished off the drink in her hand and then turned to you. "Although I might have to warn you, I don't have much money so—"

"Get me a beer."

"All right."

--

You found out over the next few weeks of bar-hopping and class-cutting that she went mostly by her surname, tended to call the few people she actually gave a damn about by their surnames, which amused you, somehow—it reminded you of the army. You only called her Sakuya when you were being serious. She only called you Yue when she was being facetious.

She wasn't a druggie but didn't seem surprised when she found out you were one. Not like you could hide it—by the time you met her you were already hooked on speed, already had dealers on your back all the time, wanting you to pay up. You told them tomorrow, the next week, the next week, strung them out as long as you could, because you were too suicidal and too stupid to be afraid of what they could do to you with switchblades and lit cigarettes, bare hands and beer bottles.

You said you'd pay eventually, and eventually you did—stealing money from your father, shoplifting and pawning off the goods. The dealers hinted at other methods of payment, other transactions, but you laughed in their faces.

"What school d'you go to, Sakuya?"

She was sitting on her bed behind you, brushing your hair. Sometimes she'd fool around with it in her absent way, trying to braid the strands. But your hair was only shoulder-length, your brown roots were starting to show through the peroxide blonde, and before long she'd sigh and return to the brush.

"I'm at St. John the Divine's School for Girls," she rattled off in a monotone. "I'm not Catholic or anything, it's just got a good reputation. At least, it did until I started going there in seventh grade."

You snorted.

"What's so bad about you? They all think you're a lush-in-training over at that school?"

She laughed at that, the sound harsh and a little raspy, which surprised you. Then she brushed a tangle out, and you winced.

"Well? You already know why nobody at my school can stand me, I might as well know—"

"I fuck around a lot." Kira flopped over on the bed, apparently tired of brushing. "The psych books say it's 'cause I grew up in a house without a mother and all that crap. No stabilizing female influences."

"I didn't know your mom…"

"She's been dead since 1988. It's fine."

The frightening part about it was that she made it _sound_ fine. No change in tone at all, no glancing away. She was actually shrugging. As though her mother's death was a casual thing. Insignificant.

You swallowed.

"That's really why you…"

"No. Not really. But it makes a good excuse."

You leaned over and started to fool with her tape deck. Anyone else, you would have said something to, even if you'd tempered it with an uneasy laugh, _you're one cold bitch_. But this was Kira—and you knew that shouldn't make things any different, but somehow it did.

"You got any decent tapes?"

"I have some of Malice Mizer's stuff."

You made a face.

"I repeat, you got any decent tapes?"

"Tokio?"

"God, Kira, you've got the tape collection of every twelve-year-old girl in Japan."

"I'm fifteen. Three years isn't really that big of a difference," she said dryly, getting up to look at the tapes. "I have one of my dad's Carpenters' tapes, if you're into old crap."

"I'd take that over Malice Mizer, easy. I dunno where they get off, they sound like a bunch of fags and they look like them too—"

"Geez, okay." Kira stuck the Carpenters tape in and after half a second the saccharine strains of "Top of the World" blasted from the cassette player. You settled back down on her bed, the pillow in your arms.

"So is it expensive? Your school, I mean."

"Not too bad."

You transferred the year after that.

--

You discovered what you'd already suspected once you transferred to her school: she didn't have (girlfriends) girl friends, just guys from the neighboring schools. She introduced you to them, sometimes, in the clubs, pointing one manicured finger—_there, that's Daisuke Kurosawa, he's a bastard but he's good in bed—and the guy sitting next to him, Shinji Itsuki, watch him, he's—_. By that point, you knew better than to ask if she'd dated any of them.

The girls hated her, collectively, because she drank and smoked and slept around and everyone knew it. Because she aced all the tests, and they said it was because she slept with the teachers, too. You never approached her about that rumor, but she brought it up herself, once—_like anyone would so much as go down on Takashi if he were the last man on earth. _And you snorted into your soda and watched half a dozen of the girls from your class roll their eyes.

You didn't care what she did, even though just being friends with her tore your reputation to shreds long before they found out about the drugs. You were both addicts in the worst sense of the word, and maybe that was what kept you friends, through your bad trips that ended in tremors and sobs and her standing over you, shaking her head. Through her nights out, coming back at three in the morning, screaming at her father

(saying _i'm not your daughter, sakuya would never have grown up to be such _trash)

(_so quit staying up all night for me, don't worry, don't bother asking where i've been_)

(_goddamnit you know_ exactly—)

and barely noticing that you were still slumped on her bed when she slammed the door to the bedroom and crawled under the covers.

Kira hung around with Sara Mudo occasionally—trailed Sara, more like, popping up unannounced beside her during lunch and after classes, cheerfully throwing out backhanded compliments amid the younger girl's fury. To her credit, Sara would generally forgive Kira afterwards—once she'd snatched a book from Kira's hands and smacked her with it, anyway. Though why Sara never held any of it against her for long, you didn't know.

And why Sara never contributed to all the rumors, never said a word against Kira or against what she did, you never knew that, either.

In private, Kira was dismissive of Sara.

"She's thirteen. She's a kid."

You were only fifteen. Kira had barely turned sixteen herself. She was growing her hair out, finally—now it almost reached her shoulders.

"Then why do you bother sticking around her?" Your mouth twisted into what you hoped was a satirical smirk.

"We used to be friends back when we were really little."

You snorted.

"She's a goody-two-shoes; you don't even have anything in common. And people say she's got the worst brother complex on the planet. Like she's practically incestuous."

"People say a lot of stuff, Katou."

"Youji told me it wasn't even a one-sided thing. Said her brother is just as obsessive about her." You flicked the ashes out the windowpane, watching Kira's expression.

"He is. But I think—"

"You know him?"

Kira gave you a deadpan look.

"I know Sara, therefore it tends to follow I know her brother."

"Is he at least hot or anything?" You don't know why you bother anymore, saying things like that, keeping the pretense of interest up.

"He looks okay." Kira shrugged. "Nothing to write home about."

You got the feeling Kira was holding out on you but didn't press the subject any further.

--

"Hey, Kira?"

"Yeah?"

You were at her house. It was late—you were supposed to go to a club, or maybe just a bar, you couldn't remember. She was reapplying her eyeliner, as usual—sitting there in her black bra and a pair of boyshorts, compact mirror in front of her face. _You don't need that crap_, half of you wanted to say for an absurd second, but you swallowed the words.

"You're on the pill, right?"

Kira closed the mirror and looked you up and down, in that awful way she always had, the way that made it seem like she knew all your secrets and didn't care enough to pass judgment.

"No."

"Really? Then—"

"Condoms. Just to prevent disease. I can't get pregnant anyway." She said the last part in such a matter-of-fact tone that you didn't think to question it, stuffing the mirror in her purse. "Why were you asking?"

"No reason. Forget it."

She frowned at you then. You glanced away, hoping your expression was nonchalant enough for her not to bother pressing the issue, and of course, it wasn't.

"God, Katou, why do you even want to—"

"Why not?" The bravado was in your tone but not on your face. "You seem to like it well enough. If there's ever been a time you turned a guy down, I sure as hell never saw it."

"Look, I've got my reasons." Kira got up from her perch on the floor to sit on the bed, and you weren't positive but you almost thought you saw a hurt look pass on her face.

"What reasons? Because you like having sex? Because you like getting a guy to pay for whatever the hell—"

"Because it makes my father hate me," she snapped, and then her blue eyes went wide for a second and her hand went to her mouth as though she hadn't meant to say it.

"You don't know a damn thing about having a father that hates you, Sakuya."

"I know enou—"

"That man stays up every night for you. Every night! I've seen him! He asks you how you are and he asks you if you're okay—h-he loves you and you treat him like shit!"

You slapped her face.

At first you barely realized you'd done it, the stung feeling on your hand the only indication, but then you looked at her, saw the red flush mar her pale cheek, her eyes water. For a second you were sure she was going to slap you back.

But she didn't. She just looked at you, hand to her face, eyes wide as though even she didn't believe you'd really slapped her. It was the look of a spoiled kid who'd finally been punished—and oh, wasn't that funny, Kira actually looking like a kid, Kira with her makeup and nubile sensibilities, Kira with her alcohol and cigarettes. The mark only took a few seconds to disappear.

"I guess I deserved that."

You didn't say anything for awhile, not willing to look her in the face anymore. You stared instead at Kira's open closet, the neatly-pressed school uniforms, the tight black dresses, the sundresses she wore after school sometimes. It was so sick and perfect and completely, completely unlike how she really was—like a set design. Then your gaze wandered back to her, eyes roving half-unwillingly to her long legs on the bed, her boyshorts, bra, the blotchy birthmark that looked like a smear of blood ending just above her stomach.

(and hell if this isn't the worst time to wonder where the birthmark began, if the red reaches her nipple or if it starts below her breast)

(wonder 'cause you'll never get the chance to know for sure)

"I guess you did."

"I still say you shouldn't start messing around."

"Like you ever gave me a decent reason not to." You lit up just to have something else to look at besides her, and you held the cigarette in your hand instead of smoking it, staring at the flame. "Maybe I'm tired of having to hang out at your place every night. Maybe I wanna see what it's like to—"

"To fuck a guy in his apartment?" She practically spat out the words. "Pointless. There's nothing to it. I could've told you that. Nothing."

"That's rich coming from you, Sakuya."

She stiffened.

"I'm just telling you."

"You care that much about me?"

Somehow, that thought mollified you more than it should have. You stood up anyway, determined not to show it.

"Well, whatever. I'm out."

--

You didn't pay the way the dealers wanted you to for a solid three weeks after that. You found the money somehow—you had too much pride to ask Kira and you didn't think she'd give it to you, anyway. Same old shoplifting, mostly, dumping everything you steal at the pawn shop downtown.

But that third week, that was when you finally met Setsuna. That was when you saw Kira with him, walking down the street after school.

Setsuna wasn't that impressive. In fact, he looked the slightest bit effeminate, something that wasn't helped by the three earrings in one ear. He was short for a guy—about an inch shorter than Kira, his light brown hair making him look like some misplaced angel. You snorted.

Kira was talking to him about clubs or something equally stupid, eyes on him, and the only genuine smile you had ever seen her wear on her face.

Your heart felt like it dropped to your stomach.

"Katou!" She saw you, came toward you. "Hey, this is Setsuna. This is my fri—"

"Yue," you said, not bothering to hide your disgust. Setsuna looked confused but stuck out his hand anyway.

"Nice to meet you. You go to the same school as Sara and Senpai?"

(senpai)

"No shit. I think having the exact same uniform on is a big clue-in."

"You've got your coat on over it! Sorry. Geez."

Setsuna wasn't worth Kira's time. You could tell by the way he apologized, the immediate flush on his cheeks as he blustered through it. Kira didn't need a guy that wouldn't stand up for himself, didn't need a guy shorter than her, with earrings and a face like a girl and—

(what do you think she needs? you?)

"Have to excuse Yue, she's got a bad temper." Kira's voice, a little higher than normal, not that bored sultry tone you were used to hearing from her.

"I do _not_ have a bad—"

"Way to prove my point." Kira still had that stupid, good-natured grin on her face, and you felt the pressure of her hand on your shoulder, and tensed. "Anyway, we were going to go meet up with Sara. If you wanna come—"

"Don't you think she sees enough of you at school?" you snapped back.

"Should I?"

You glared at her. Glared at him, too. Then you made up some flimsy excuse and headed for the clubs.

--

(they looked like a couple, back there)

(at least, kira looked like that—was what _she_ wanted)

You didn't have a claim to her. None at all. Maybe that was part of why it hurt so much, left you feeling nauseated and empty every time you thought about it—that genuinely happy look on Kira's face

(she really looked like a girl ought to just for a second)

(for once)

and the way Setsuna looked back.

And the images flash in your head—your sister Sae—the way she looked that day when you shoved her down on her own bed—not out of desire but out of hatred—

(dirty dirty dirty lesbian)

(incestuous slut)

(bad blood—just like her father)

How Sae had stared, horrified, eyes welling up with tears as she tried to shove you off, _off_—

(kira would look at me like that if she knew)

(knew what i was knew what i'd tried knew what i wanted)

(yes i think she would)

--

Other transactions.

You lost your virginity two days later to one of your dealers, one of the few from your middle school days who knew you when you were taking your first hit of marijuana. You had your eyes closed through half of it, feeling sick as you tried to conjure up an image of her instead.

But the dealer smelled like beer and Kira only drank too-expensive cocktails. The dealer's hands were thick and sweaty, pawing all over your body—and you knew Kira wouldn't be like that.

No.

(kira's a whore you idiot)

(kira's a _fucking_ whore)

But you still imagined her leaning over you, the crucifix flashing, dangling from the chain on her bare neck, the cold metal touching your skin, and you shivered. Imagined her mouth against yours, her tongue flicking into your mouth absently, carelessly as you ran your fingers through her dark hair

(but i was doing this to get back at her)

(to hurt her)

(so why'm i—)

(_oh_)

"Not half bad," the dealer muttered and the spell was broken. "You do it again and the meth's on me for the next week."

You threw on your clothes and walked out of the room.

--

Kira never suspected anything when you came back over to her house an hour later, banging on the door.

"Kira, Kira, open the damn door!"

You heard her rush down the stairs. The door swung open a second later and you saw her standing there, wearing a ratty pink robe of her mother's, the belt not even tied. You could see her cami underneath, and dimly you were aware she still had a cross necklace on.

"God, Katou, it's three in the morning."

"Tell me something I don't know. Lemme in." You strode inside the second she moved out of the way, walking into the kitchen and helping yourself to the platter of cookies sitting inside the microwave oven.

She grabbed one of the cookies from your hand and ate it herself.

"What're you doing here?"

You managed a deadpan look.

"I'm here all the time, aren't I?"

"I thought you'd gone home."

"Tried," you said, the lie made easier by the cookies in your mouth. "Dad might be sick but he sure as hell ain't sick enough to let his little girl spend the night at his house."

"Your dad's such a bastard." Kira's standard response. She took another cookie from you and sat down on the kitchen counter, almost-bare legs crossed at the ankles, swinging.

"Speaking of, where's your old man? Is he shacked up with his secretary tonight or what?" You were trying too hard to be normal, you could tell, but Kira seemed to have something else entirely on her mind.

"He's at a conference in Chiba. He won't be back until late next week."

"Great. We can have a party."

"Maybe." She reached out to take another cookie away from you in one absent-minded gesture, but you drew your hand back just in time.

"Quit eating my cookies."

"Sorry."

"What's the matter with you, Sakuya?"

You wondered why you were the one asking, when an hour ago you'd lost your virginity, lost it to some dealer you didn't give a damn about.

"It's three in the morning, that's what's the matter with me." She sighed. "Sorry. You can stay up if you want, I'm going back to bed. Don't turn the volume on the TV too loud—"

"Yes, mother." You rolled your eyes. "Think I'll just go to bed too. You going to school tomorrow?"

"Probably not." She shrugged off the bathrobe, letting it hang on one of the kitchen chairs, and you couldn't help but glance at her—the black camisole with a white ribbon, a pair of plaid boyshorts. For a second she looked like (a girl ought to) a normal sixteen-year-old kid.

"Me either. Can I take a shower first?"

"Since when did you start asking? Go ahead."

--

You used up all the hot water in the house that night, scrubbed your skin until it was red and raw even in the dim light of the bathroom. If Kira noticed how long you stayed in the shower, she never said anything—she was mostly-asleep by the time you finished, lying on the bed, her fingers unconsciously curling into a fist, then opening up again. She was just awake enough to roll over a bit when you came in. Not awake enough for anything else.

(not that i meant to ever talk to her about it)

(hell, she probably wouldn't even care)

But you knew that was a lie the second the thought came into your head.

"Sakuya."

Kira mumbled something in her sleep, rolled over again.

"Wake up for a sec, would you?"

"The house had better be on fire. _What_?"

"I—I was a bitch to you. About Setsuna."

That wasn't what you'd meant to say at all. Kira rolled over to face you.

"Huh? S'fine, forget it. Got to sleep."

"You were right, y'know. He's nothing to write home about. Looks too much like a girl."

"Setsuna is a girl."

"What?"

"Nothing. I'm tired, Katou, go to sleep."

Maybe it was the masochist in you that made you scoot towards her. Maybe it was just that you were tired and debased and somehow ruined, and she didn't realize it.

"Sakuya, I… you like that guy, don't you?"

"I've known Setsuna a long time."

"That's not what I was asking. You like him, right?" You bunched the covers in your fingers, waiting on her response. "You never… really _liked_ any of the guys you screwed around with back in the clubs and crap but—"

"God help whoever really likes her." Kira laughed softly into the pillow. "I stole that line, Yue—read a bad romance novel last time I went to the library. It was all about a man who chased a girl for twelve years before he realized he didn't even want her anymore. That's a horrible thing, don't you think?"

(you've chased kira for over a year)

(look at all the good it's done you)

"Kira, maybe it's just me but I'm pretty sure that Setsuna's a—"

"I can do one worse than twelve years. Try a hundred years. Try a thousand. Try—waking up one morning and realizing you'd trapped yourself in your own game. Realizing I'd ruined all my chances before I'd started."

"Why? 'Cause you sleep around? Sakuya, look, if half the stuff the bitches at school say about Sara and Setsuna's true then I think he's got bigger problems than you wanting to date him."

"I should've known better than to try. I thought that if I was... but it doesn't matter. Setsuna always falls for the worst loves. This time it just won't be me."

"Now you're being melodramatic." Your stomach lurched, and you fought to keep the quiver out of your voice. "Y-you want him that bad, say something. Ask him out, whatever. He'd take you up on it. Who the hell wouldn't."

"Would you?"

She was probably smiling, there in the dark. Obviously joking, in her knowing, jaded way that cut right to your heart.

"Not a chance in hell," you lied, but she never knew.

--

The next morning she got up before you did, tossed a pop-tart at your head and set a glass of orange juice on the desk. Back to the status quo. Life as usual.

That night, you went to the clubs, both of you. You flirted with the drunk guys and they laughed but bought you drinks to go along with your smokes. The strobe lights were bothering your eyes; that was your excuse for the evening. You checked for her in the corner of your eye, glancing back sometimes—you stopped when you saw her with her arm wrapped around some guy's waist, heading to the backrooms.

You drank your beer and you wondered. You wondered about girls that you knew were trouble just by looking at them. You wondered about her, what she'd said about Setsuna.

You wondered, but the only answer you ever got was her putting one arm around your shoulder three hours later, her hair mussed, makeup smudged, and her quiet voice against the blare of the music telling you it was time to go home.

finis


End file.
